


Hands of Mercy

by amyoatmeal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always the Adios, Angst and Feels, Canon Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Character Mentions, Coda, Could Be Canon, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Fix-It of Sorts, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Injured Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Stitches, The Fanfic Gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyoatmeal/pseuds/amyoatmeal
Summary: "Nobody told you. Nobody explained. You're just shoved out kicking and screaming into this human life, without any idea why any of it feels the way it feels, or why this confusion, which feels like it's … a hair's breadth from terror or pain. You know, just when you think you do understand, it'll turn out you're wrong. You didn't understand anything at all."After taking out the Rit Zien, Cas finds he has no where to go and asks Dean if he can spend the night with him in his motel room.





	Hands of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnonGrimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/gifts).

> hey, guys! This was the first prompt written for @AnonGrimm! They requested Angst, they requested Canon, and they requested Smut, so I chose the infamous fanfic gap from 9x06! hopefully I delivered on all three counts. Let me know how you guys feel about it in the comments! xx

****

**Rexford, Idaho**

"Where to, Cas?"

Dean wanted an answer, but Cas didn’t have one for him. He glanced off down the deadend road, debating with himself on whether or not to tell him that in actuality he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to call home these days if he ever did at all. Just a toothbrush and a rolled up sleeping bag on the unforgiving floor of the Gas n Sip downtown that Nora had found just that morning. And he couldn’t really defend it if he said it out loud, not without making himself look like a failure, so he didn’t.

“Cas?” 

Wordlessly, he opened the passenger door and slipped into the familiar leather bench seat, directing his brooding attention toward Nora’s house as she turned off the porch light. Dean slid behind the wheel shortly after, but he didn’t turn the key in the ignition. 

Where to. 

They sat in a moment of strained silence until Dean repeated Cas’ name to draw his attention back. When Cas resolved to look toward him from across the seat, the night barely concealing the wetness around the rims of his eyes, Dean seemed concerned, if only slightly. 

"You got somewhere to go?”

"Um," Cas said as he rubbed over the stubble on his chin, sound muffled into the palm of his hand, "Did you get a motel room?"

"Uh, yeah, Henry’s Fork. Next town over, I think.” Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. Surprise even, to see his usually collected, stoic friend world-weary and on the verge of tears. 

Cas gave an unsteady nod as he stared out the windshield again. 

“...Why?"

"I’d like to stay with you tonight, if that’s alright.”

"Sure, buddy. No problem. I can take a look at that hand too, if you want,” he said with an awkward closed smile, but Cas didn’t return it. And for some unknown reason, Dean was blushing when he answered. 

Starting up the car, they drove the short distance to Henry’s Fork with the radio turned up so they wouldn’t have to talk about it. 

***

When they pulled up, the lights around the motel strip weren't on save for the few lonely night owls catching the 11 o’clock news. They parked in the free space just outside Dean’s room before he cut the engine. Grabbing his bag and the medical kit from the trunk, the two headed for the door with the tarnished brass number ‘5’ tacked over the peephole. 

“I should probably mention now…” Dean cleared his throat to break up the silence as he fiddled with the lock and key. “There’s only one bed. Wasn’t expecting visitors, but, uh, you’ve had a long night, buddy. You earned it.”

“I’ll be fine, Dean. I don’t need to sleep.” 

That was a lie. 

There once was a time where Cas would watch Dean sleep in rapt fascination; it was a comfort, he’d liked to think, for both of them when a particularly bad hunt was safely under their belts and Dean’s nightmares haunted him more than anything else. Four hours would pass like the lifespan of a gnat and Cas would catch himself most of the time before Dean’s eyes slivered open. Now, the truth was that Cas was exhausted, but it wasn’t something one night of sleep on an insubstantial motel mattress was going to fix and if it came to deciding who deserved the rest more, his answer would always be Dean. 

“That ain’t true, Cas,” Dean countered, “You’re human now. Humans need sleep.”.

“I’ll manage.” If there was anything he needn’t be reminded of in the moment, it was that. “Besides, you’ve driven a long way from Lebanon. You should take it.”

Dean didn’t look convinced. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Inside, he flipped the switch by the door, illuminating a faded, relatively sterile interior with drab pink floral wallpaper. No bells and whistles, as Dean would say. The bare minimum. A bed, a table, an old TV, and a bathroom. But even then, compared to sleeping on the floor or in abandoned buses, it seemed like the height of luxury. 

Settling his bags on the table, Dean set about rummaging around for a spare change of clothes for himself as well as Cas. “You hungry?” He asked, sizing up a pair of worn-out sweatpants. “Could order some takeout or somethin’ if you want.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” He ignored the way his stomach felt like it was eating itself in some vain attempt to maintain the illusion of his former self, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual meal. Just lukewarm leftover nachos at work. Cas wasn’t thrilled to be accepting Dean’s help anyway. Dean offered out a handful of clothes to him and he angled his head in confusion as they were thrust into his unawaiting hands. “What are these for?” 

“Pajamas? To sleep?” He said it like it was obvious.

Cas regarded the clothes in his hands and nodded. “Right, of course.” Ever since becoming a human, he’d never recalled a single time he’d had to wear such a thing. Most of the time he’d just slept in his jeans. And then it occurred to him he was in a place with hot, running water. “May I use the shower first?”

“‘Course. Just, uh, go… do that,” Dean gestured to nothing in particular, “and then we can fix up that hand of yours.”

“Thank you.”

Heading for the bathroom, Cas softly closed the door behind him and put the clothes down on the counter. The mirror over the sink was large and unavoidable and only served to show him the broken shell of the body that used to belong to Jimmy Novak. He saw nothing of the angel he’d once been. 

On the other side of the door, Dean waited for a steady stream of water before he started to undress himself. He changed quickly into an old pair of boxers and a t-shirt, so used to Castiel having the ability to pop in at the most inopportune times. But this Cas? Human Cas wasn’t capable of it. 

And human Cas was, well, he was doing okay without him. More okay than he’d anticipated, at least. Maybe it was all for the best anyhow. Dean rolled into town and suddenly Cas was next on the chopping block? Again? He’d already lived through that weeks ago, he didn’t need to think about it happening again. Who knew what would’ve happened if he hadn’t got there when he did? Dean didn’t even want to think about that.

Rummaging around in his medical kit to fill the time and avoid thinking about it, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, considering it primarily for the wound on Cas’s palm, but soap was probably more sanitary anyway, so he brought it to his lips and took a swig. Just one, maybe two. Just in preparation for being stuck in the same room with the guy overnight. 

Normally, that thought made him the only semblance of happy he tended to feel lately, but how was he supposed to ignore the fact he kicked his ass to the curb even if Cas was doing better without him? Dean wouldn’t even blame the guy for hating him at this point. If it were him in that situation, he’d hate himself too. 

But the funny thing about that was, Dean already did. More than anybody else.

He sat himself down on the end of the bed with a drawn out sigh and flipped the TV on to some boring news broadcast about the case they just solved and then eventually it switched to some crap about how even broccoli is bad for you these days, which was something Dean already knew without needing the official confirmation. And maybe while he waited, he took another burning sip. Sue him. 

That’s when the water cut off. 

Only moments later, Cas was opening the bathroom door in a pair of Dean’s old sweats. Just the sweats. His bare torso was still dripping rivulets of water onto the musty carpet. And since when did Cas have a tattoo?

“Jesus!” The whiskey burned a little more than it should’ve going down. “You get robbed or somethin’?” Dean asked, attempting a joke through his fit of choking. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever seen the guy completely shirtless. During better times, he might’ve made a joke about this feeling like the set up to a bad porno, but it wasn’t better times and that was his fault so he left that thought alone.

“I didn’t want to get blood on your shirt,” Cas answered, honest and matter-of-fact. He held up his freshly cleansed hand to showcase the wound on it, still seeping blood through the cheap, one-ply toilet paper. 

“Good call.” 

Turning off the television, Dean clung to the bottle of whiskey, reached for his medical kit, and crowded Cas back into the bathroom. “Sit,” he said, gesturing for Cas to take a seat on the closed toilet seat. He plunked the bottle down on the counter beside him, encouraging Cas to partake because, without his powers, homemade stitches would hurt like a son of a bitch.

Cas complied without much indignation, but he looked just as awkward as Dean felt, blue eyes averting to the fake tiled floor instead of eye level with Dean’s groin as he sipped directly from the bottle. The incandescent lighting over the sink buzzed and surged in lieu of any real conversation.  
“You get a good deal on that chicken scratch, or what?” Dean asked breezily, gesturing with his chin towards the freshly healed tattoo branded on Cas’ side as he sorted through the medical kit.

Cas frowned at him. “Chicken scratch?”

“Yeah, man. The tattoo.”

“It’s Enochian, Dean. It’s a warding to protect me from Heaven,” he stated bluntly, not entertaining the casual comment. “I wrote it myself.”

“Right. No, that’s smart.”

“You say that as if you’re surprised.”

“Not surprised.”

Dean found a tube of antibacterial ointment and some bandages, a couple finger splints they’d saved from other incidents over the years, and some dental floss. Setting all of that on the bathroom counter, Dean turned to Cas and silently requested his hand, but he didn’t readily offer it. 

“C’mon, Cas, let me see it,” he prompted, when the other man ignored him. 

Cas hesitated before opening his palm up almost begrudgingly and laying it knuckle side down in Dean’s. His hands were softer than Dean remembered -- not that he’d reminisced about that sort of thing often.

“I’m not a child,” he grumbled as Dean began cleaning out the cut more thoroughly. 

“Nobody’s sayin’ you’re a child. You’re a couple millenia too old for starters.”

“Well, I don’t need you to coddle me. I can do this myself.” 

“Just because you can doesn’t mean I’m going to let you,” Dean countered, tossing a reddened cotton ball into the tiny waste basket. “You’ve healed my ass and Sam’s more times than I can count. You’re hurt. It’s my turn to take care of you now, so just let me do it.” Carefully, he took the bottle from Cas’ hands to sterilize the needle over the sink and gave it back. He started threading the needle with floss when Cas sighed. “What?” 

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty, Dean.”

He did feel guilty. It’s not like he could deny it. Getting here from Lebanon, that guilt was beating him over the head the entire drive, just waiting to look Cas in the face again and pretend like everything was peaches and cream, despite the fact on top of it all, he was lying through his teeth to everyone around him. “That’s not what it’s about. You’re still my friend, Cas. You know that.”

“Am I?” 

Dean stopped his careful ministrations to really look into his eyes, but all he found looking back at him was a face full of doubt with a bitter side-serving of anger. Incredulously, he scoffed. “What do you mean, are you? Of course you are! My best friend actually, if you really wanna know.”

“That’s a high honor. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but friends help friends in their time of need. Or am I wrong?” Or maybe in all his millenia of watching humanity and learning their language, he just simply misunderstood the meaning of the word.

Dean should’ve known this was coming, but the hit didn’t hurt any less. That familiar feeling settled into his bones and his jaw began to tick. Hatred. For himself more than anything. “No, not wrong. I should’ve been there for you and I wasn’t -- That’s on me. But are we friends? I don’t ever wanna hear you questioning that again. You hear me?” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good.” 

Healing. Another ability Cas undoubtedly missed right about now. He winced and hissed through his teeth at the first jab of the needle puncturing his palm. He took another healthy drink to compensate. In the meantime, Dean started trying to fill the void with what he thought was small talk to distract him. Catching him up to speed about the goings on of the bunker. About Sam. Kevin. About how they were storing Crowley in the dungeon and how right about now Sam was probably arm wrestling him into translating proto-elamite, but Cas was almost entirely silent throughout it all. Zoned out aside from the occasional acknowledging grunt or whimper. 

Dean finished up applying the ointment and placed the finger splints on the worst two fingers. Bandaging it all up was the easy part. The uncomfortable silence between them reminded Dean they still hadn’t done the hard part yet. 

Packing away his supplies, he hedged around the question. “So... we gonna talk about what happened back there, or…?” 

Just as he posed it, Cas stood from the toilet, grabbing the whiskey and the t-shirt off the counter, and squeezed past him through the doorway. He took a few solid gulps before he set it forcibly down on the table. It was a strange sight to see. Cas doing something so human. So Dean. Drinking to avoid conversation, to avoid opening up. If Dean hadn’t been doing the same thing a few minutes ago, he might even be a little offended. 

“Y’know, that trick isn’t gonna work on me. I practically invented it.”

Cas rolled his eyes again. “Well, then I learned from the best.” He didn’t look at Dean as he said it. Unwilling or unable to maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds. 

But Dean wasn’t backing down that quickly. “Well?”

Finally, Cas relented with an exasperated sigh. “There’s nothing to discuss, Dean. Nora thought I would be more useful as a babysitter and I clearly failed at doing that as well.”

“It happens, man, them's the breaks sometimes, but you’re not a failure, Cas. I can think of a handful of reasons right off the top of my head to back me up. Though, that wasn’t what I was asking about.”

“Then what?” 

“We both know that winged dick wasn’t there for Tonya. He didn’t even so much as blink in the kid’s direction.”

“Ephraim was just doing what he was meant to do. He was following his orders. I-- I don't fault him.”

“So you're telling me that makes it right? He was just, what? Toeing the line? Exploding people is okay when you can justify it? Sorry, I don't buy that. So what gives?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, I might not understand rocket science, but I know rockets exist. I’m not stupid, thanks. I think I can grasp whatever it is you’ve got goin’ on in that weird head of yours.”

Cas blinked at him and scoffed. “You know what? This was a bad decision. I think I need some air.” 

“Oh, don’t pull that card!” Dean practically invented that move too. This only confirming what he already knew: he’s been a horrible influence on the guy. “Y’know you said you weren’t a child, but you’re sure as shit acting like one right now.”

Cas bulldozed past him to grab his discarded clothing and shoes strewn about the bathroom floor. 

“C’mon, Cas, what’re you doin’?” Dean asked, but instead of answering, Cas started in on trying to don his white button-down over his shoulders without even doing up the buttons because of his bum hand. “Cas.” He attempted to slip into his shoes on his way over to the door, but Dean gripped the crook of his arm before he could get that far. “Would you stop! I’m trying to fucking talk to you!” 

Cas roughly shrugged him off. When he turned to face him the only emotion flashing across his face was that same old anger. Same old hurt. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you mean, what do I want? I want to friggin’ talk to you without you turning your friggin’ back on me!”

“And what about what I want? Hm? Did that notion ever occur to you in all this? That I might want something too!?” Cas’ nostrils were flaring and his jaw was tensing and he wasn’t backing down either. “You aren’t in control of me, Dean! I don’t have to do whatever you want just because you want it! And despite evidence to the contrary, the world doesn’t actually revolve around you!” 

Another hit. This one hit closer to home. 

In all this, Dean hadn’t really stopped to consider what Cas might want at all. If ever. The feeling sunk to the pit of his stomach and made him sick. Was that what he really thought of him? Did he really think Dean didn’t appreciate him after all this time?

“And talk about turning your back! Where were you weeks ago when I was left to my own devices with nowhere to go? With only the clothes on my back, a few dollars in my pocket, and no idea how to be human? You weren’t there, Dean! You know, the reason I asked to come here was because I have nowhere else to go. That stupid job is all I have and I’ve earned it! I’ve broken down every step of the way. I could’ve coped knowing the humans I put above most else were there to guide me. All I wanted was to be welcomed into the bunker just as much as Kevin or Charlie, or you know what - I’d have been perfectly happy to be locked in the dungeon with Crowley if it meant I got to stay! All I’ve wanted this whole time was to be with you so I’m sorry if--” 

Cas’ tirade was cut off with a thud. The air rushed out of his lungs as his back hit the motel door, and in an instant Dean closed the distance between them in a bruising kiss. More teeth and lip than any tongue. It burned like whiskey, but Dean couldn’t tell who from. And for a moment so brief Dean thought he was imagining it, Cas sank into it too. 

But then he was roughly pushing him off again. His blue eyes were wide and frantic when they parted and Dean could tell his own matched perfectly.

“Fuck! Please just stay,” Dean pleaded as the hot air between them grew cold. “I didn’t mean to--” 

“Fuck you,” Cas spat, out of breath, though the fingers of his good hand were tangling in the front of Dean’s t-shirt like an iron grip. 

“No! No, I did! Shit.” He shook his head to clear it and gulped to catch his breath. Hands fisting in his own hair in frustration with himself. With this whole fucking situation he’d gotten everyone into. Everyone else was paying the price and he had no one to blame, but himself for it. “Dammit, Cas, you gotta know I want that too! You gotta know that!” 

The countless hours spent praying, knowing full-well Cas couldn’t even hear him. The sleepless nights tossing and turning, wondering about him. If he was even safe. The tears he reserved for only himself when he remembered the look on Cas’ face that day they found him dead. When he thought he’d lost him forever yet another time. 

“I know it doesn’t seem that way, and I can’t tell you all the details, but you gotta believe me, Cas. I swear to God,” And Dean didn’t do that lightly, “There ain’t no other place I’d rather have you than home with me!” Dean’s eyes desperately trying to convey to Cas to understand, Cas desperately wanting to believe him. “It doesn’t feel like home without you there,” he added, weakly. A tear rolled down his cheek and that was all it took to convince Cas because Dean didn’t cry unless he meant it. He followed it down, gaze settling on Dean’s wet parted lips. 

Without further thought, he hauled him in by the front of his t-shirt and kissed him again. Roughly at first to match Dean’s, but it soon ironed itself out into something gentler, deeper. More tongue than before. Dean’s fingers sank into his still-damp hair and tugged as he licked into his mouth and Cas moaned into it. At the new sensations he still wasn’t accustomed to feeling.

“Cas,” Dean breathed against his lips.

“Dean.”

“What're you doin’?” He pulled back just enough to search the other man’s eyes, but there was no hesitance there. No shame this time. No regret. Nothing like what Dean had felt. Had been feeling for years.

“Kissing you,” he answered, confused as anything. A real Cas thing to say in the moment.

Dean shook his head and snorted. “Yeah, I got that.” His gaze moved from the intense way Cas was looking at him, like he was looking inside of him even without the angelic grace, to linger on his whiskey-laced lips. “But why?” 

It probably was the whiskey. Cas’s human body wasn’t used to tolerating alcohol yet. Or maybe it was the fact that when the woman he believed to be April offered him care, it was traded in the form of sexual favors. Maybe he believed that it was just something humans did when there was only one bed and his human form was driving on autopilot from the flood of hormones coursing through his body. More likely it was a combination of these things. But kissing Dean, even briefly, felt far different than it had kissing April. It felt like a small spark igniting under his skin. It felt a little bit like feeling his grace again. 

“Because I want to,” was all he said. 

All he really needed to say before Dean was crashing into him again. Greedily pressing them together at the hips with everything he wanted to say, but couldn’t say aloud. Hands clutching into the sides of his dress shirt, Dean guided them over to the mattress and brought Cas down on top of him. The rusted springs groaned under their combined weight, but it didn’t even register; only the sight of Cas looking down at him like he was something new entirely before Dean pulled him down into another kiss. His calloused hands skirted under the hem of Cas’ open shirt, running his palms appreciatively over his strong back and along his ribs. He nudged the shirt off his shoulders until Cas got the memo to pull it off his wrists. They parted, though this time not for long, and Cas cried Dean’s name to ask for help. Dean aided him in getting it over the bandaging and, once his arms were free, he reached for the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and yanked it over his head, exposing his soft stomach and the faint trail of hair that disappeared into the top of his boxer briefs. 

Judging by the outline tenting his sweatpants, Cas was hard already. Dean couldn’t fault him. Afterall, the guy was almost nearly a virgin and that whole newly human thing was probably running amok on his hormones and emotions. But it was definitely hard to ignore so close to his own.

That very same thought came back and struck him over the back of the head just as Cas reached out to tug at Dean’s boxers. “Wait, Cas--” He breathed through his nose, pulling back only a mere few inches. “You good with all this?” After what happened last time, Dean would understand if he never wanted to have sex again. 

“Yes,” was all he said. He tried to pull him back into a kiss and Dean kissed him once and pulled away again.

“Cas... last time--”

“This isn’t last time,” Cas said brushing the issue aside, “You’re different.” Forgoing Dean’s lips, Cas angled his head and took to Dean’s throat as he sucked on the delicate spot below his ear. His tongue was hot on his skin.

Dean groaned low in his throat and hummed. “Yeah, okay,” he choked, “Fuck, where’d you learn to do that?” He could feel his own dick firming under Cas’ hand as he started to stroke him through the cotton. Dean’s palm fitted against Cas’ clothed erection leaking through his sweats in return and he decided then he really didn’t want to know where Cas learned to do that.

Within minutes, Cas started frantically tugging at the hem of his own pants, but Dean placed his hands over Cas’ stopping him from pulling the hem down any lower. “Hey, hey,” he whispered breathlessly, breaking the kiss, “Slow down.”

The expression on his face mimicked that of a wounded animal. “Did I do something wrong?

“Not wrong,” he drew in a calming inhale and exhaled through his nose, “Just, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.” He’d never thought this moment would ever come. Sitting here now, with Cas looking at him the way he was, their hands burning prints into each other’s bare skin, Dean could admit this feeling was more than a little heady. “Want you to feel all of it.”

Dean reached for Cas’ chin and tugged it towards his to resume their kiss and wipe that sorry look off his face as they fell back together. The kiss deepened quickly. Cas was overeager with the rush of new sensations taking hold of him without really knowing what to do besides impulsively act on them. And despite having done this hundreds of times, Dean wasn’t much better off. The hand he’d tangled in Cas’ messy hair slid down lower over the nape of his neck, down the trail of his spine, where it found itself seeking the firm muscles of Cas’ ass under the hem of his sweats. Dean’s fingers teased the cleft of his ass as he pulled their groins closer and Cas moaned wantonly into his mouth as he hastily pushed the sweatpants lower. The sound went straight to Dean’s dick. Cas’ ass was just like he’d imagined it: smooth and tanned and firm; a fact Dean knew in theory, but was floored by in actuality and he wasn’t about to pretend he hadn’t imagined it now. And Cas’ dick? That was better than he’d imagined.

Roughly, Cas scraped his blunt nails down Dean’s abdomen, over the jut of his hip bones, to pull off his boxers and Dean lifted himself off the mattress to help. For a brief moment, their cocks aligned against Dean’s stomach and it took everything in him not to come from the thought alone. Cas didn’t hesitate to take Dean in hand and Dean sucked in a sharp breath as his head dipped to lavish his chest.

“Cas,” he panted while Cas’ tongue experimentally licked his chest, “You sure--”

“Yes,” he stressed, capturing Dean’s nipple between his teeth.

With as much as was leaking out of him, Cas’ fist glided over Dean’s cock faster now, but with his lack of experience and having to prop himself up, his rhythm stumbled. Wordlessly, Dean reached between them and tapped at Cas’ hand with the backs of his fingers. “Let me,” he whispered, intertwining their fingers as he carefully flipped them over. And Cas let him this time, readily. 

Spitting into his palm, he shifted himself between Cas’ thighs, drawing him in, and wrapped his fist around both of their cocks as he crowded back into Cas’ space. Slicking them both up again, Dean stroked and squeezed them in tandem as they rocked into the motion. Hips grinding together. Never releasing Cas’ hand from his own, only holding onto him tighter. The sensations were almost too much for Cas. His lips faltered, panting more than kissing, but Dean continued right on kissing him anyway, sucking on his parted pink lips instead as they rocked together.

Any other time, any other person, Dean would’ve wanted more by now, but with Cas? This was all he really needed. Now that he thought about it, this was all he’d ever really wanted. 

“Dean,” he whined, “I think I’m-- I think I’m close. Is that okay?”

He couldn’t restrain the moan that escaped his throat as Dean twisted his fist around the heads of both their cocks, stroking faster, and Cas’ head rolled back into the pillow, exposing the thick cords of his neck as he peered up at him through his thick, dark lashes. His pupils were wide and dark with lust and want and maybe a combination of something else, encircled by that same certain shade of blue that belonged to nobody other than Cas. Dean could’ve gotten lost in them. He probably already had years ago, he just never expected to find himself here: tracing his tongue over the delicate skin of Cas’ throat and listening to the sounds he was making for him. Because of him.

“Yeah, Cas,” panted against his throat, “It’s okay. Just let go.” He continued leaving marks along Cas’ clavicle as he writhed beneath him, desperate for his release. Dean didn’t stop or slow his pace, even when Cas’ rocking began to stutter and his entire body tensed. He groaned low and rough against Dean’s ear as his cock spurted cum over Dean’s fist and Dean just kept stroking him through it, milking him until he came himself with a quiet sob into Cas’ neck. 

They laid like that, stuck together, for an indeterminable amount of time as their breathing slowed. Really, Dean just didn’t want it to be over, but if the way Cas’ hands were clinging to his back were any indication, Cas didn’t want it to be over either. Like maybe if he let go then Dean being here at all wouldn’t have been real. Dean could respect that. Understand it, even. In the moment, he wasn’t ready to put mere feet between them to get a towel from the bathroom, let alone a thousand miles of asphalt.

“Was that good?” Dean murmured, chancing a glance up at Cas from where his head was resting on his shoulder.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas answered, but he sounded confused.

“Was it better than last time, I mean.”

Cas took a moment to ponder the question because of course he did. Just long enough for Dean to flood himself with doubt. “Well, you didn’t stab me,” he said, “So I think it was a little better. I’m not entirely sure I understand what they have to do with each other, though.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. 

And now he really didn’t want to get up. But he had to. He did. Because their combined cum was drying tacky on his fist and Cas’ stomach and what he really liked to do after sex was cuddle and that was hard to do when you had cum on your hands. 

He peeled himself away with a heavy groan and Cas wasn’t entirely willing to let go until Dean explained he’d come back and clean him up. The towel was warm just like Cas’ tanned skin and Dean wiped him down like he was the most precious thing on the friggin’ planet because in a way he was. At least, he was to Dean.

Once clean, Cas maneuvered himself under the blankets and after turning out the light on the nightstand Dean quickly followed suit, slotting himself in against Cas’ side like there ain’t no place he’d rather be in the moment. At any moment, but he couldn’t say that. 

So much for not wanting to sleep in the bed.

***

Cas exuded warmth like a furnace and were it not for everything that happened earlier, Dean might have fallen asleep swiftly and deeply, but as it were, he couldn’t let his mind drift any further than whatever was troubling Cas. He laid like that for at least an hour, but he couldn’t let it go.

“You asleep?” Dean asked. Cas’ eyes were closed when he looked over at him, but he could tell he wasn’t really sleeping. Something was eating at him too.

“No,” he said.

“Me neither.”

“Yes, I’m aware. You just asked me if I was.”

Dean shook his head in fond disbelief. A few minutes passed in silence until, in a gentle murmur, he asked, “You remember after purgatory?” He paused to find any trace of recognition from Cas, but he couldn’t. “You told me you were suicidal once. Said if you saw what you’d done upstairs you’d off yourself. Is that what this is? You wanting Ephraim to finish the job for you, or what?”

Cas hesitated and opened his eyes. He looked to the ceiling then. A look akin to shame washed over him; Dean only knew from seeing it on himself in the mirror day in, day out. 

“I can’t explain it,” he said meagerly, but the statement wasn't denial. Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or afraid.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“You wouldn’t understand even if I did.”

“There you go again with that. Is that what you think of me? Y’know, just because it’s never happened to me doesn’t mean I won’t listen. You can talk to me about stuff, man.”

“I’ve never believed you to be stupid,” he said. “I’ve always found you to be intelligent. That’s not what this is about. The spectrum of human emotion is vast and I don’t know how to explain myself, Dean.”

“Try,” he said, idly brushing his thumb over the warding on Cas’ ribs, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Cas was silent for what felt like forever and Dean almost thought he’d fallen asleep on him until he chanced a glance to find his gaze fixed on a spot on the ugly floral wallpaper. He could see the tension mounting in his shoulders. He was thinking about something. Hell, maybe about all the times Dean let him down, or maybe just about the one time he let him down the most. Dean wouldn’t be surprised. Because he was still thinking about it too and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since Cas left the bunker.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like not to have a purpose?” He posed quietly, forcibly level. “To have your entire existence revolve around the very idea of being useful only to be made utterly useless? To be born into a role, a family I guess you could say, only to be rejected by them over and over. To think maybe you could have some semblance of a meaningful existence with someone, and for them to turn around and reject you too?” 

“I might have some idea,” Dean said, sheepishly staring at the same spot on the wall. Guilt was starting to seep into the cracks just as surely as they’d never left.

“I was never angry at you, Dean. I know now I was hurt more than anything. It’s just that-- I’ve done things,” he started again shakily, “I’ve done so many things wrong, Dean. Sometimes it feels like one thing after another.

“Angel’s… They shouldn’t be capable of human emotion. It’s not part of the kit, as you’d say. We’re not equipped to handle such drastic influxes of emotions as you humans do. For some reason, I was always a peculiarity -- an exception instead of the rule -- and I atoned for it. Over and over, reset after reset. The things--” he paused to wipe an idle tear staining his cheek, “The things I’ve done, they’ve always preyed on me for as long as I can remember, even as an angel. But this?” He gestured to his body under the covers as though Dean might actually see the difference, like Dean had ever really been capable of seeing his true form before his grace had been so unceremoniously ripped from his throat. “Being human… it comes with such great suffering. Sometimes I feel like that’s all I’ve done since I fell to Earth. Sometimes feels like it’s too much.”

Dean stalled, unsure of what to say. Unsure if he should even say anything. He’d never been the best with words. Maybe Cas wasn’t even looking for hollow encouragement to keep on truckin’. Lord knew Dean was never the best with that either. 

“It’s not all bad,” he said eventually, thoughtfully, turning his head to look at Cas’ forlorn profile in the dark, “Not all suffering, I mean. Sometimes life… well, it can be pretty good too.”

Finally, Cas turned his head to look Dean in the eye, his eyes glassy and red and, despite everything he’d been through lately, a little bit hopeful too. The look broke his heart and fuck if that wasn’t a heavy feeling.“It can?”

“Sure, it can. You just need to find the thing that makes it good despite all the crap and you hold onto that. And I won’t lie to you, man, being human? It’s mostly crap, sometimes literally,” he added with a brief chuckle, “But there’s things, people mostly, that make it not seem so bad.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

“When you’ve found something worth holding onto.”

“In my experience?” Haltingly, Dean reached his hand out to entwine with Cas’ good one. He brought it to his lips and searched his watery too-blue eyes. “Usually after I let it get away,” he confessed with small, sheepish smile. 

The corner of Cas’ lips lifted ever so briefly to match. He focused on the spot where Dean’s lips tickled the backs of his knuckles. “I thought I understood where I fit into all this, I thought my place was meant with you… and…. And Sam at the bunker---”

“You do belong there.” Dean interjected, hyper-aware of their warm hands still pressed together. “I can’t explain it right now, but I wasn’t lying to you. I wish you were there with me all the time.” And then, before he could pretend he meant with Sam and hell, Kevin too, it happened. Like he couldn’t see it coming from a mile away, Cas leaned in and kissed him on the lips again. No anger, no heat from before. A curious thing. Just a brush of his chapped lips against Dean’s. Simple, really, but Dean could feel his blood pressure rising again in his ears. Kissing him back felt as natural as anything else, but it left him wondering.

“Cas, why did you kiss me? Before, I mean.” 

“I told you,” he answered with a confusion turn of his lips.

“Because you wanted to,” Dean quoted back to him, “But… why? You could’ve kissed anybody. What’s so great about me?”

“I think I’ve wanted to for a long time… I’d just never known the feeling till recently.”

“You mean with the reaper?”

Cas hummed in confirmation.

“Cas, I want you to know, that thing with April? That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You deserved better than that for your first time. You know that right?”

“I do,” he said, and if wonders never ceased, the corner of his lip ticked up in a small smile. “If it’s any consolation, I much preferred you.”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, albeit softly, “Me too.” 

He’d only wished this fixed anything.

***

In the morning, the weight on Dean’s shoulders felt heavier than before. They hadn’t spoken much upon waking, much less on the drive over to Rexford. After everything they’d said to each other, having to leave Cas behind again was like a knife to the gut. He rolled up outside the Gas-n-Sip just after 7AM, but neither himself nor Cas were willing to rip the bandaid so quickly. 

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, putting the car in park. “Back at the bunker, I, uh…” Cas looked to him then, the slightest bit of hope still shining through, and then it faded the longer Dean kept talking. “Sorry I told you to go. I know it’s been hard on you, you know, on your own. But you’re adapting.” Dean paused, considering his words carefully. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he murmured, barely maintaining eye contact. He couldn’t make himself vulnerable again after everything. “But there’s something Ephraim said... The angels - they need help. Can I really sit this out? Shouldn’t I be looking for a way to get them home?” One last ditch effort to be of service. 

“Me and Sam will take care of the angels. You’re human now,” Dean reminded him again, “It’s not your problem anymore.”

He nodded and knew he had to get out of the car. Any longer and he might let his emotions get the better of him again. Afterall, he had a good excuse. His shift had started five minutes ago and he wasn’t about to let Nora down again. 

The door of the Impala closed heavy on its rusted hinges and Cas bent down to afford Dean one last lingering look, hoping to convey everything he couldn’t parse into words. Dean’s lips twitched into a smile, but he didn’t look any more thrilled than Cas felt when he waved him goodbye. He didn’t watch as Dean drove away down the road. He didn’t have to. He could hear the purring of the engine growing fainter the further Dean got from him. 

The only thing it served to remind him was that, no matter if he was an angel or a human or anything in between, the only one he could truly rely on now was himself.


End file.
